"Yes," assented Felicia, "I am glad it kept fine till—till all was over."
That afternoon she and Mrs. M'Cosh had followed her mother to her last earthly resting-place in the cemetery, and now she was experiencing more keenly than ever that sense of desolation which had fallen upon her when she had left the death-chamber three days previously. The weather, which had been dry, though overclouded, throughout the morning and afternoon, had now turned to rain, which was descending in torrents, and running in streams down the gutters on either side of the street. It was weather in keeping with her feelings, Felicia told herself; she thought she would have felt her sorrow still more acutely if the sun had shone that day.
The last week had passed like a dream to the little mourner. She was truly grateful to Mr. and Mrs. M'Cosh, who had not only given her the shelter of their own home, but had saved her mother from the degradation of a pauper's funeral; and now she was thinking that she could not remain with these kind friends much longer, she must keep her promise to her mother, and go to her father's people.
"How I wish I could stay with you altogether," she whispered by-and-by, her soft blue eyes shining through tears—"with you and dear Mr. M'Cosh!"
"Ah! I wish we could keep you, my dear, and so does master, I'm sure!"
"Supposing my grandfather and grandmother don't want me," suggested Felicia, sighing, "what shall I do then?"
"Why, then, you can come back to us. Yes, I mean it. Master and I talked the matter over last night, and he said I must impress upon you that you'd never be without friends in the world whilst we're alive."
Felicia flung her arms impulsively around the good woman's neck, and hugged and kissed her rapturously. How much rather would she face the future with Mr. and Mrs. M'Cosh than with strangers like her relations. But there was her promise to her mother to be kept. Oh, she did hope her grandparents would refuse her a home!
Later in the evening, after Mr. M'Cosh had returned from work, and had had his supper, he and his wife fell to talking of Felicia's prospects in life. It appeared he had been making inquiries about the little girl's relatives, and had learnt that they lived in a house called the Priory, on the outskirts of the village of N—, in Somersetshire. Felicia had the address in a pocket-book of her mother's, which contained several papers of importance, including her parents' marriage certificate.
"The Priory is a fine place, I'm told," Mr. M'Cosh remarked; "my mate worked there once when Mr. Renford was making some alterations in his stables, but more than half of the house is shut up. Doesn't it seem somehow wrong," he proceeded meditatively, "to think of Felicia and the poor soul who's gone living upstairs in that attic, when there's so many rooms wasting, so to speak, in that great house?"